


Time Marches On

by November_Leaving



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Some mentions of mourning, Wrote this after Order of the Phoenix came out, reflections, some mentions of grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/November_Leaving/pseuds/November_Leaving
Summary: As time marches on...a simple phrase loaded with many different meanings.





	Time Marches On

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what made me search for these but I was able to find old Harry Potter one-shots I wrote some time between 2002 and 2004. I used to post challenges frequently back then. This will be the last post as the other one-shot I found was DARK! Like DANG. Younger me didn't play at all.
> 
> Not edited at all.

As time marches on...

A simple phrase loaded with many different meanings.

Usually it’s equated with bad. Misery, broken hearts, death, loss...evil. Lies are what this is about. A trusted figurehead lied to him, to me, to our world. It was either he or evil. He won but he also lost.

Lost his life.

Voldemort was gone and so was our savior. My savior. And who would ever think that I, Draco Malfoy, would say such a thing?

Harry Potter kept Him out of my way. Not Voldemort but Him. They were lovers. Big bloody shocker there. But because they were preoccupied, I never had to betray myself.

Yes, I liked Ron Weasley.

Loved, probably.

Hate was what we had for each other but I knew better. This feeling transcended our stereotypical hatred. There is a truly thin line between love and hate. I crossed it years ago.

But once he died, two months before matriculation, Ron was in shambles. His whole education was built around Harry Potter. Sidekick, best friend, lover. You can imagine my reaction...

Pure and utter fear.

With Harry Potter gone, I was to deal with my fate. Ron was free; dreary but free. Nothing to stop me from proclaiming my truth, except all of Gryffindor. They had formed a protective barrier of love and care around him. Luckily enough, he happened upon my secret spot found at the Black Lake. Near it laid a knoll, very plain yet hidden behind thorns and brush – like me.

One day, as I went to reflect, there he lay, asleep. That was his first glimpse at me. He was so prefect.

I couldn’t help myself as I took out my notebook and began to sketch.

He saw me; I didn’t budge or curse. I just drew. And then left.

That was the beginning of a wonderful relationship. Every day he saw me at my tree, sketching, and he would lie down on his robe and look up at the sky. He would murmur. He would leave. We soon graduated and I never had to see him again.

I had my drawings and that’s all that mattered. That was enough.

A year blew by and it was Harry Potter’s one-year anniversary. I decided to head over to Diagon Alley. I strolled around, not knowing where to go. Many were going on about Harry Potter or recalling old times or going about their business, with an air of mourning to them. I could not stomach it for Ron was not there.

So, I left.

As I went through The Leaky Cauldron, someone called out to me. “I can’t do it.”

I turned towards the voice and it was Ron.

“Yes you can.”

“Nope. Not ready to go back.”

He sat next to the wall that opened to our world, his wand, which I knew he probably hadn’t taken out in months, was sticking out of his pocket.

“Do you want to go somewhere? Talk about it?” I wondered as I stood in front of him.

“I would love to talk to a familiar face.”

He left or should I say we left. I took him to a nice restaurant: my house.

“You live in a flat? Alone? And cook?” He pondered aloud as he hung his jacket on the coat rack.

“Ever since my father went to Azkaban and my mother died in the war, I decided to hold off on accepting the inheritance and try and figure myself out.” The answer rolled off my tongue.

“I miss magic but I don’t miss what it causes.”

He was sitting in the study, staring off into space, into the sky.

He continued. “I miss Hogwarts. The place, the people, the seclusion. Him. I can’t believe it’s been a year. I still live at home because I can’t get up, walk in our world and find myself a job. We were going to be Aurors. We were going to fight together, side by side. He died. Dumbledore said that the prophecy clearly stated that either he would survive or You Kno-Vold...Voldemort. Neither did. I miss him.” He seemed pale; his freckles stood out on his pale cheeks.

I didn’t know what to say. “I miss my secret place but some redhead stole it.”

He smiled, if only a little bit. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I liked the company.”

“So did I.”

And time marched on.


End file.
